


the stitches or the devouring mouth

by Agent_24



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: A Drifter's Gambit, Domestic, Identity Reveal, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Season of the Drifter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21739192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_24/pseuds/Agent_24
Summary: Shin Malphur is a very good liar. Drifter knows this.
Relationships: The Drifter/Shin Malphur
Comments: 17
Kudos: 105





	the stitches or the devouring mouth

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thank you to ActualHurry for beta reading, and also listening to me ramble about this theory for like...months now.

* * *

_In The Past_

* * *

In the two months that the Renegade’s been traveling with him, Drifter’s run his mouth all he likes. He’s shown the Renegade his ‘gets’, and proposed bits of his currently unnamed gamble of a game, and he likes the guy’s quiet curiosity about it all. He likes the way the guy shoots better. 

They’re resting now, sitting in a pretty place Drifter’s thinking he’ll call the Emerald Coast. He’s got a chunk of Cabal meat roasting on a stick over a little fire; the Renegade’s watching him cook, hands and chin propped up on one knee. 

The Renegade says very suddenly, “I wanna tell you my name.” 

Drifter glances up, rotating the meat once so it browns even. “Don’t put much stock in names, brother,” he says in case the Renegade is expecting the same out of him, and props the stick up between two stones. “But have at it, if you want to.”

“I want to make you a deal,” the Renegade says, more insistent now. “Can’t do it unless you know me. Hear me out?”

Drifter likes deals, so he’ll hear it at least, sure. He leans back against the broken remains of an ancient stone building and folds his arms, nods, waits. 

The Renegade takes off his helmet then, the old fashioned way with all the clasps and resulting hat-hair. He looks young. Drifter figures he was killed mid-twenties, a tragedy enough on its own even without those pretty, dark eyes and the long lashes that framed them. 

“Thought you’d look older,” Drifter admits. “With that voice of yours.”

The Renegade smiles. Drifter’s brows go up; he feels charmed. The Renegade says, “I’m Shin Malphur.”

Drifter goes very still. 

The Renegade watches him for a second. “You don’t believe me?” he asks.

“Nah,” Drifter rasps, and he doesn’t dare move. “Nah. I believe you.”

Shin Malphur waits a little longer before he speaks again. “I’m still interested in your game,” he says. Another pause. “Your meat is burning.”

Drifter can smell it, all smoke and ash. He reaches a hand out towards the fire, then clenches his fist and Blinks very briefly out of existence.

“Shit,” he hears Shin say, and Blinks twice more before he’s shot to cinders.

* * *

_In The Present_

* * *

Drifter opens his eyes and dreads, as he always does every morning, the chilly process of getting up. 

His bed is empty. He frowns. There is only a little fading warmth left next to him, along with the faint smell of cologne muddied by fuel and leather. 

Drifter rolls onto his side and burrows a little deeper into his covers. The Derelict hums and creaks, empty and a little lonesome. His Ghost surfaces to look at him meaningfully; he isn’t sure if it’s berating him for his moping or reminding him that he has a match soon.

Drifter grumbles and pulls himself out of bed, throwing his robe over his shoulders. It smells of smoke and ash, leftover from standing too close to Shin while he shot the shit out of some Fallen. Drifter huffs a breath, bracing himself as he pulls on his boots, then rushes through the snow outside his crate to make a break for the shower. Any heat Shin left behind gets sucked into the Derelict’s frosty vents.

He scrubs sweat and leftover mess from his skin, rakes his hands through his hair and thinks briefly of Shin’s fingers curling against the back of his neck. In the mirror, he examines a mark left of teeth left on his throat and another on his belly, near his navel.

He lets his Ghost heal the one on his neck, so no one will ask about it.

* * *

_In The Past_

* * *

The fear seizes him again the moment he draws a breath, and it rattles his entire body so hard that he just falls right back to the ground while he scrambles for his gun. 

And the Man with the Golden Gun stands above him, holding that famous cannon. 

“Relax,” Shin says. Brown eyes flit to Drifter’s holster, and Drifter freezes. 

“You shot me,” he says breathlessly, then lets out a laugh that borders on hysterical. “Relax? You shot me!” 

Shin Malphur smiles then, almost fondly. “Only ‘cause you ran,” he says, squatting near Drifter’s boots. “I’m askin’ you to hear me, just for a minute. You don’t like what I have to say —” 

“You’ll get my Ghost,” Drifter guesses, frantic and high pitched. 

“You’ll go on your way,” Shin finishes, “and I’ll go on mine. No bloodshed. You have my word.” 

“You’re nuts,” Drifter tells him, eyes fixed on the gun in Shin’s hand, hanging there over his knee. “You’re goddamn insane.” 

Shin rises and offers his hand. Drifter flinches, and Shin lets it fall to his side. He says, “C’mon now, outta the dirt.” 

Drifter gives him a couple of nervous once-overs. Shin’s posture is lax, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing when he’s the fastest draw on the planet. He wonders how much the guy had to practice shooting slow. He wonders how much he’s been holding back as the Renegade. 

Two months, walking alongside his own living nightmare, and Drifter hadn’t had a damn clue. 

Shin lets him do his looking, keeps his expression neutral. He doesn’t look real. Or he looks too real. Drifter doesn’t know what to make of him, with his too-sharp eyes and his made-of-marble jawline, with his slightly crooked nose and the fluff of dark hair on his head. Drifter’s not sure he ever really imagined what the hero of legend might look like. He’s not sure he ever thought about him like a real person with a real body at all, if he thought about him as anything but a pair of too-quick, too-hot hands. 

Drifter climbs to his feet slowly and hopes he doesn’t visibly shake, eyes pinned on Shin’s hand the whole time. He only dares meet the man’s gaze when he’s fully upright, tension lining his shoulders. 

Shin lets him look. He smiles. He holsters his cannon. “Come sit with me,” he says, and Drifter reluctantly follows him back to the fire. 

* * *

_In The Present_

* * *

Drifter opens his eyes and wishes the rest of the ship was as warm as it is under his covers. 

Actually, maybe it’s a little _too_ warm. Shin’s heat is still trapped in Drifter’s unzipped sleeping bag, tucked tight around his body. It’s starting to make him sweat. 

Drifter grumbles under his breath and shuts his eyes for just a moment longer, then flings the blanket off and pulls on his boots and robes. He rushes through the snow to the bathroom, takes a piss and a shower and brushes his teeth, stands in front of his mirror and purses his lips at the bruises and imprints of teeth left along his collar. They’re low enough to keep hidden beneath his armor this time, at least. 

In his kitchen, which is little more than a fridge, some stacked crates for counters, an electric stovetop, a table with mismatched chairs, and a messy box of chipped dishes and bent forks, Shin is making coffee. The coffee pot is cracked too, kept from leaking by a slab of duct tape; beside it, two mugs sit, one still empty. 

“Mornin’,” Shin says, pouring coffee into the empty cup. He’s only wearing a ratty t-shirt and faded sweatpants, radiating heat as he approaches the table. 

Drifter stands in the doorway for a moment, then moves to sit. His chair wobbles under his weight. “Thought you had someplace to be,” he says casually. Shin hands him the first mug, and Drifter stares at it suspiciously before taking a sniff and then a sip. His brows go up; it’s spiked with Vex milk, just enough to leave a faint kind of singe in the back of his throat. 

“I do,” Shin says, taking a seat and holding his mug in both hands while he sips from it, like he enjoys the little bit of warmth that isn’t his own. “Later, though. Thought I’d eat first.”

Drifter snorts. “Who said I was gonna feed you?”

“I like how you make eggs,” Shin says simply, sipping his coffee again. 

Drifter eyes him for a moment before he looks away and takes a long gulp of coffee, then grumbles under his breath and rises from the table to set his mug on the counter while he digs around his crates for a frying pan. As he passes, he sees Shin’s mouth quirked around the edge of his mug.

“I saw that,” Drifter says, accusing, and Shin just hums quietly, pleased, against the ceramic.

* * *

_In The Past_

* * *

“Are you nuts?” Drifter asks. 

“You ask me that a lot,” Shin muses.

“Wonder why that is,” Drifter mutters dryly. 

They’re sitting in a little dive out on the outskirts of the Last City, occupied mostly by tired Guardians coming in from patrols. Usually, Drifter likes to stick to bars full of mortals, but everything about the way Shin moves means anybody could peg him for a Lightbearer from miles away, and the last thing Drifter wants right now is to stick out like a sore thumb. 

Shin’s nursing a whiskey with those nimble fingers of his. Drifter knows better; he’s sipping on water. Shin had given him a funny look when he’d ordered it, like he knew precisely why Drifter wasn’t drinking but didn’t particularly care to challenge him on it. 

It’d been a little insulting, but Drifter isn’t so prideful that he’ll be baited into alcohol by a raised eyebrow or two. 

“What’s the matter with setting up in the EDZ?” Drifter demands. 

Shin swirls the ice in his drink and sips it, casual and unbothered. “One,” he says, “even with the location you’re scoping out, you’re gonna be low on power and supplies out there. Good luck getting any deliveries without heading into the Farm. Two, I got it on good authority that Shadows tend to congregate around the EDZ to pass on information, and you don’t need them pokin’ into your business where they can catch you alone.” 

Drifter frowns, folding his arms over his chest, fingers drumming restlessly at his elbow. “Whose authority?” 

“Mine.” Shin grins. 

Drifter scowls. “Alright, hotshot, sure, but I don’t see how setting up in the Tower of all goddamn places is gonna play in my favor. The Vanguard ain’t gonna be so keen on Gambit like you are.”

Shin holds up a hand to beg his patience and sets his whiskey down. “Hear me out,” he says. “I’ll admit, the Vanguard ain’t too keen on the way I do things either, but I do have some sway with somebody they trust. Let me put in a good word with ‘em, and the Vanguard’ll stay outta your way.” 

“You’re gonna have to forgive me if I don’t expect it to be all that easy,” Drifter says flatly. “I know my own luck, and you’re pushin’ it.”

Shin’s mouth quirks up. He sips his whiskey again. His Light burns bright as ever, a faint warmth Drifter can feel even from across the table, and Drifter wonders if he burns off alcohol a little faster than the average man. “We’re gonna have to make a little game of it,” he says. 

There’s a layer of delight underneath the words that has Drifter wrinkling his nose. “You’n your games,” he says, a little bitter. 

Shin’s eyes glitter. “S’just a little reverse psychology. We set it up so it seems like you think you’re squattin’ there without permission, let ‘em think it’s up to them to make a call on whether or not you can stay. I’ll play the honor and responsibility card and convince them I’ll handle you if things go too far. They decide they don’t like it? You pack up and we vanish for a while, then get started up again outta their reach. Worst case scenario, you catch a lotta attention from Guardians around the Tower, and that gossip’ll spread like wildfire. Best case?” He shrugs, picks up his whiskey again, tilting his head and eyeing the swirl of his ice before he flicks his gaze back up to Drifter. “You get to stay, get some popularity for being the hot new vendor in town, and access to all the resources you need.” 

Drifter purses his lips. It...sounds like a good plan, much as it makes him nervous. Player attention sounds great, but Vanguard attention? That’s the kinda thing Drifter’d been hoping to avoid as long as possible. And now that Cayde’s bit it, he hasn’t even got a friendly face to do work with. He’d be depending entirely on Shin’s contact, and that makes him antsy too. 

And then there’s the matter of Shin playing watchdog for the opposite side. 

“Say I agree to this,” he says, because his biggest shortcoming has always been his habit of biting off more than he could chew. “Whoever your contact is...I ain’t bending to every little thing they say.” 

Shin nods. “Wouldn’t expect you to.” 

“And you’d better not be —” 

“The promise to turn a gun on you is a farce, Drifter,” Shin interrupts, amused. 

Drifter stares at him with his mouth still open for a while, then shuts it and looks away, scowl returning full force. “Sure,” he says, ever distrustful.

Shin smiles. “They’ll come ‘round. Your game will be good for humanity.” 

Drifter already knows his game will be good for humanity. Shin isn’t gonna score any points with him for saying so, not when Drifter already knows his real motive.

But his eyes linger on Shin’s mouth anyways, just for a moment.

* * *

_In The Present_

* * *

Drifter opens his eyes. His lashes brush skin; Shin mumbles, “Mornin’,” and brushes a knuckle against Drifter's hip.

Drifter just grunts in response and peels his cheek away from Shin's shoulder, though he only shifts under the covers until they hide half his face. Blue eyes flick up to meet brown, unmistakably grouchy. 

Shin’s mouth ticks up at the corner. “Good morning,” he says again, a little more intently. Under the sleeping bag, he rolls onto his side and slides an arm around Drifter’s waist. 

“Good morning, like hell it is,” Drifter grouses. Shin promptly pinches his ass, and Drifter sends him a glare. 

“What?” Shin asks innocently. 

“You’re a goddamn machine,” Drifter tells him. “Get out and let me sleep, you insatiable freak.”

Shin laughs, a sleep rough thing low in his throat that sends jitters down Drifter’s spine. “Could’ve stopped me any time,” he reminds, playful, noses at Drifter’s cheek like asking permission and sidles a little closer till they’re pressed flush again. Drifter grumbles in response and lets him, tilts his chin up till Shin can kiss at the edge of his mouth. 

Shin swipes his tongue over Drifter’s bottom lip, and Drifter lets out a huff of breath.

“I’ll go if you’re tired,” Shin murmurs. 

Drifter sighs. He’s got matches in two hours. “Gimme a minute,” he mutters, which might as well mean _stay,_ and shuts his eyes again. 

Shin hums in thinly veiled delight, fingers trailing over Drifter’s back.

* * *

_In The Past_

* * *

Shin is very much like a thunderstorm with pretty eyes and a penchant for complicated schemes, and every time he meets up with Drifter, the already tricky subject of Gambit gets a little bit trickier. 

“Your contact is _Shaxx_?” Drifter demands. 

Shin hums. He’s leaning back against the Derelict’s railing, looking oddly comfortable for his first time being allowed on board, eyes trailing over Drifter’s dimly lit ship. “Turns out, being a quick killer tends to win the attention of Crucible handlers,” he says, but in that matter-of-fact way that Drifter’s come to recognize as the tone of voice he uses for something he doesn’t deem important. “He’ll be more open to this than the Vanguard. Trust me.”

“More open than closed might still mean closed,” Drifter objects. Shaxx is the last person he wants to hear about this. Shaxx is _loud._ Drifter needs to stay out of the sight line of the Vanguard for as long as possible, and Shaxx knowing about Gambit is not going to slow the process down any. 

“He’ll agree,” Shin insists. “Just gotta convince him a little. I’ve got some letters planned out to ease him into it. You leave Shaxx to me. You’ll get your ‘in,’ promise you that.”

Drifter exhales and rubs his temples. When he looks up again, Shin’s holding out an envelope. Drifter frowns. “What’s this?” he asks. 

“The letters,” Shin says pointedly, holding them out a little further. “First couple of ‘em, anyway. Figured you’d wanna look ‘em over. Make sure nothin’ in ‘em is too telling.”

Drifter blinks at him. “You hand wrote them?”

Shin pauses, withdrawing his arm a little bit. His cheeks grow pink. “That bad?”

“No, s’just —” Drifter says, then cuts himself off and takes the envelope. He likes handwritten things. He draws his gun schematics by hand half the time. But he hadn’t figured anyone else would still…ah, whatever. A letter’s a letter, he guesses. 

He takes it out of the envelope and unfolds it, minding how carefully creased it is. He just glances over it at first: short and concise, fine and hard to read handwriting, no signature at the bottom. He wonders when the last time Shin introduced himself as Shin Malphur off the bat was, if ever. He reads it thoroughly on his second look over, starting with a too-convincing opener about how Shin’s been following him for some time. He does a good job of making Drifter sound mysterious, clever, dangerous, while still making Gambit sound like a real worthy kind of investment. 

The last line of the second letter sounds a little bit like an innuendo, if you ask Drifter, but he isn’t about to look Shin Malphur in the eye and mention that it sounds like he wouldn’t mind slipping into Drifter’s bed.

Speaking of eyes, Shin’s are on him when he glances up again, and they’ve got some measured brand of mischief in them. Drifter suddenly wonders if calling him a ‘fine cut of bait’ was _really_ for Shaxx’s benefit. “S’fine,” Drifter says, clearing his throat and hoping his cheeks haven’t turned too noticeable of a pink. “You said there’s gonna be more?”

Shin nods. “It’ll take more than that to convince him, sure,” he says, holding his hand out to take them back. 

Drifter hands them over. Their fingers brush; he turns a little pinker still. 

“I’ll write some more out and bring ‘em by in a few days,” Shin says, tucking the letters back into the envelope neatly. “Meantime, you might wanna head down to the Tower and find a place to squat till we get the Vanguard on board.” 

“Mm,” Drifter says, sticking his hands in his pocket. One comes right back out, a coin rolling over his fingers. Shin’s gaze follows that hand. “I got one. Looked the place over not long after you mentioned it. S’damn mess, but it’ll do.” 

Shin looks away from Drifter’s coin, but only meets his eyes briefly before giving him a slow once-over. “Good,” he says, then pushes off the railing, letters disappearing in a little glimmering shine of data. “I’ll meet you again soon.” 

He transmats out. Drifter scowls and absently rubs his arms. The Derelict seems noticeably colder, but there’s still a tiny bit of heat left where Shin had stood just a moment ago, like he’d left a warm little pocket of air in his wake.

* * *

_In The Present_

* * *

Drifter opens his eyes for the third time now. Music, muted and bass heavy, floats down through the ceiling, occasionally accompanied by a sweet singing voice or a few synthesized words.

Once Guardians get it in their minds to party, there’s no sleeping in the Annex. It’s the only downside to getting his own official setup in the Tower…well, that, and the ships that fly in not two feet from his door. 

But it’s warm, at least.

Too warm, with Shin crashing here. Drifter has a habit of crowding towards his heat in the night, but without the Derelict’s frigid air to balance it out, Drifter’s left sweating and sticky. He reaches back and flings the covers down to their knees, then kicks it the rest of the way off. Halfway underneath him, Shin shifts, awake now. 

The space around them seems a little cooler now, and what little space between them cools too; Shin’s fine-tuned control of his Light always manages to give Drifter the heebie-jeebies. 

The heavy base thudding through the ceiling fades out briefly, then switches tempos. Drifter slides his hand over Shin’s chest, watches goosebumps rise there while he drags that touch down to his belly, lifting his fingers one at a time ‘till only one rests at Shin’s navel.

Under his ear, Shin’s heart kicks up its pace to match the beat bleeding from the Bazaar. 

* * *

_In The Past_

* * *

“Gonna call this one…” Drifter says, then pauses for dramatic effect, “Legion’s Folly.” 

Shin huffs. “Poetic,” he murmurs. He sounds appreciative. “Your Guardian’s oughta like that.” 

“Reckon so,” Drifter says, swinging his feet while he runs a coin over his knuckles. They’re sitting on a little jut of rock overlooking an absolutely massive Cabal drill that managed to dig deep before he and Shin interrupted the manning crew’s work. He’ll stick a portal in there, he thinks, to drop his players from the left side of the arena to the right...so long as they jump in before the drill comes down.

They’re quiet for a minute. Sun’s going down soon, casting a pretty kind of glow over the place, and the breeze rustles red leaves from Nessus’ gnarled trees. 

The light catches Shin’s lashes, and the wind brushes his hair from his forehead. 

“Got news for you,” Shin says suddenly, turning to meet his eyes like he’d felt Drifter’s stare. “I sent off the last of the letters I’ve written to Shaxx. He’s agreed to a trial match for Gambit. Assumin’ things go off without a hitch, I’ll be sending him the final ones, and then we’ll be in the clear.” 

Drifter blinks. He hadn’t expected any news on their little project today, but if there was gonna be news, he’d figured it’d be a rejection. That’s a wild idea, that Gambit might be happening sooner than they thought, and it might even be halfway legal. “I’ll be damned, “ he says, slipping the coin back into his sleeve. “You actually convinced him, you crazy son of a bitch.” 

Shin laughs, a low, quiet thing that’s only barely enough to disturb the temporary peace around them. “Told you, I got sway. But even then, your game did most of the work on it’s own. Only the strictest kind of Lightbearers are willin’ to stake everything on the Traveler after the War.” He tilts his head, points at Drifter with a pleased glint in his eye. “You, what you’re doin’, you’re giving ‘em somethin’ to bet on without tipping over some edge.” 

Drifter hums, dropping his hands to the stone at his sides and leaning back a little and staring out past the drill and into the clouds. Shin makes the whole thing sound a lot less self-serving than it is. Drifter’s almost flattered. “Everybody likes a chance to tip scales in their favor.” 

“Sure,” Shin murmurs. 

A light touch at his knuckles makes Drifter jump and snatch his hand back; Shin curls his fingers and withdraws. “I didn’t intend to startle you,” he says. Drifter stares at him. After a long moment of Shin avoiding his eyes, Shin scoots a little closer, lets his hand settle close to Drifter’s leg. 

Drifter sets his hand back down. Their fingertips brush, the fabric of their gloves catching against opposite grains.

“I’d like to kiss you,” Shin says, quiet. “If that’s alright.”

Drifter stares at him. Shin lets him do his looking. After a long moment, Drifter’s eyes fall to his mouth, and he tilts his head just enough to be an invitation. 

The air between them feels warm; Shin never keeps his Light tamped down, not like Drifter does. Drifter almost expects his skin to be burning hot, entertains the idea that Shin's mouth might brand him somehow. Shin kisses him with some measure of caution, steady and not too pressing like he wants to savor it, or maybe like he thinks Drifter might spook otherwise. But he's firm enough with it that Drifter thinks about leaning against him, enough that Drifter considers how well their bodies might slot against each other. 

And his mouth is soft. Drifter wishes he could say that was another thing about the Man, the myth, the legend, that he’d never considered, but...well. Drifter’s always been better at keeping the truth to himself than telling lies. 

Shin breaks the kiss but keeps near enough for their noses to brush. It’s nothing that leaves them feeling winded, but there’s still a question hanging loose in the air. One of them will have to ask it aloud eventually. For now, Drifter nudges his lips against Shin’s again, light, and Shin presses another kiss the rest of the way down. 

“I have to meet someone,” Shin murmurs after a moment. His fingers push at Drifter’s a little more insistently, but he makes no sure move beyond that, like anything further is some line he’s taking care not to cross. “When can I see you again?” 

Drifter lets his breath out slow. He likes getting his hands on things. He likes picking things apart to see how they tick, likes putting them back together to see if he can make them tick a little different. He likes textures. He likes having something to fiddle with. So he brushes a knuckle against Shin’s cheek, runs his thumb against the cut of his jaw and watches Shin turn into the touch, wishes he wasn’t wearing gauntlets so he could feel the grit of Shin’s stubble. “Wanna clear out one last arena before we get started,” he answers. “Few days, at most.” 

Shin takes his wrist. Drifter stops his exploring. Some hard line of tension in Shin’s shoulders drops, leaving him looking a little slumped as he rises and brushes the dirt from his pants. 

“Send me the coordinates when you’re ready to clear it out,” Shin says, and transmats away with a little shimmer of light.

* * *

_In The Present_

* * *

“I gotta go,” Shin rasps, but he says it against Drifter’s mouth like he’s unwilling to part for it, and presses another kiss down hard right after. “I gotta — Teben’s waitin’ on me.” 

His hands close over Drifter’s wrists. Drifter’s fingers are tight in Shin’s vest, unrelenting. Shin tugs, and Drifter pulls. Drifter mutters, “Fuck Teben,” under his breath and drops his weight back to his cot. Shin collapses between his legs, a soft noise of helpless want falling from his mouth. He’s got makeup on, red paint under his eyes and his lashes dark with mascara. Drifter wants badly to ruin it. He’s already made a mess of the color on Shin’s lips, that pretty, plush shade that makes his mouth look just a little fuller.

“I gotta—” Shin tries again, desperate, but he’s already rutting against Drifter’s hips, already arching over Drifter’s body while Drifter’s arms go over his shoulders, hands clawing at the back of Shin’s chestplate. Shin licks between Drifter’s teeth till Drifter moves to bite beneath his jaw; Shin groans, and his armor shimmers and disappears. Drifter opens his eyes enough to see Shin’s Ghost roll its eye and float down the Annex’s dark hallway. 

“Damn you,” Shin groans, weight sinking down a little further. 

_Got you now, quickdraw,_ Drifter thinks, one hand sliding over Shin’s cheek till he smears Shin’s winged eyeliner with his thumb.

* * *

_In The Past_

* * *

“This is —” Shin begins, then closes his mouth and swallows. 

Drifter waits. 

“Is this a Throne World?” Shin asks finally, high pitched.

“Eh…” Drifter says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Dunno if I’d call it that, exactly. Just a little nook I lassoed.” 

“And these...things,” Shin says slowly.

Drifter sticks his hands in his pockets. Easier to hide the shakes that way. “I figure,” he says, “S’better to leave big surprises to you. This is what’s gonna be at the end of matches. Whoever kills these first wins. Winner takes all.” 

The leather of Shin’s well-worn gloves creak under tightened fists. The Ascendant Realm washes out his color, makes him look sickly and ashen and monotone. Doesn’t suit him. His brown eyes flit around, jumping from each old, cursed Taken to the next. “These...beasts,” he manages, voice muted and dull in this small but infinite space. “This hunger. I can feel ‘em staring at me.” 

Drifter huffs a short laugh, dry of humor. “You’re probably the nicest snack they’ve laid eyes on in a damn long time.” 

Shin’s gloves creak again. His trigger finger’s itching, Drifter just knows it. “But they’re not attacking.” 

Drifter shrugs. “They’re mine.” 

Shin looks at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. Drifter thinks he probably had a similar look on his face when Shin had introduced himself, wide-eyed and shocked and maybe a little afraid. One of Drifter’s Captains twitches, jittery and shimmering in the Dark. 

“These will kill Guardians,” Shin says after a moment. 

A pause; Drifter takes a coin from his pocket and rolls it over his fingers. “So will you.” 

“These ain’t gonna discriminate between earnest folk and people who need to be put down.” 

Drifter slides the coin between his thumb and his forefinger, pressing it into his palm. “Better this than what’s comin’, if you ask me. They’ll learn.” 

Shin goes quiet. 

Drifter flips the coin. It pings against the metal tips of his gloves, and it rings throughout the small space like a tiny gunshot. “Want you in the first match,” he says. “Close it out quick before things get a chance to turn sour. I mean…” he chews his lip, then adds, “Not too quick. Just to keep the team from panicking.” 

Shin pries his eyes from Drifter to look at the Primevals again. He rasps, “Sure.” 

“I’ll be on comms guiding ‘em. You just press on in case some learn better by watchin’.” 

“How hard do these things hit?” Shin asks.

Drifter shrugs again, then whistles and crooks his finger. That twitchy Captain stumbles forward, leering towards Shin’s Light. “Kill this one,” he says. “See for yourself.” 

Shin glances at him once more, then draws his Ghost and transmats his helmet on. “This thing’s gonna try to devour me whole. Permanent-like.” 

Drifter lifts his hand and flicks it out, _shoo,_ and suddenly his little Realm swells, and all the other Taken seem miles away. “It’ll have to get in line,” he says.

The Captain roars.

* * *

_In The Present_

* * *

Drifter scrapes his teeth against Shin’s neck and grins at the jolt he gets in response. Shin cracks one eye open and peers at him. Just beyond the gate, sunlight is peeking into the Annex halls. 

“You’re gonna have Guardians pourin’ in here soon,” Shin says, closing his eyes again and throwing an arm over his face.

“Mmhmm,” Drifter agrees. “Better scram before they do.” 

Shin groans quietly, but doesn’t move. “Give me my pants.” 

Drifter’s nails drag across Shin’s belly. Shin lifts his arm a little and glances at him, curious and interested. Drifter nudges closer till Shin moves his arm entirely, till he drapes it across Drifter’s shoulders and leaves room to kiss him. Drifter slides his tongue against Shin’s bottom lip, licks against his teeth when Shin opens his mouth for him. Shin makes a soft, pleased noise, fingers curling in the short hair at the back of Drifter’s neck. He pulls Drifter in a little closer and Drifter settles half on top of him, arm braced over Shin’s side of the bed and bracketing him in. 

“If I didn’t know any better,” Shin murmurs, still against his mouth, “I’d think you wanted me to stay.”

Drifter pauses, then grumbles something under his breath and sits up. “Good thing you know better,” he says, slapping Shin’s thigh just to watch it jiggle. “Go on, get. Some of us have work to do.” 

Shin rolls his eyes and sits up on his elbows, raising a hand to comb his bed hair into something mildly presentable. “Work,” he mutters. “Got me out in the field sweating, but sure, you got work to do.” 

“I can pay somebody else to rig Gambit for me,” Drifter reminds him. He stands, picks his own pants up from the floor and tosses Shin’s into his face. Shin sighs and pulls them from his head, then sets his feet on the floor and looks at them tiredly before he summons his Ghost and transmats them away. He’s dressed in clean armor in a flash, plain colored and sturdy. Inconspicuous. 

Drifter hears voices down the hall, faint and still distant. The early birds are gonna be in for bounties soon, so he lets his Ghost dress him in his armor, though he takes his robes from its hook on the wall to put on himself. Right over left, and Shin touches his hip as he folds it that way. 

“What're you doing tonight?” Shin asks, lowering his voice. 

Drifter pretends to think about it. “Mm...dunno. Got a new mod I wanna try on an Invader set. Might be workin’ on that.” 

Shin nods at him once. “Use mine,” he says, which is his way of inviting himself back for dinner, and bedtime, and whatever else after. 

Drifter shrugs, looping his belt around his waist as Shin steps away. “Sure,” he says, and Shin steps past the gate just before the first Gambit players peek their heads into the doorway.

* * *

_In The Past_

* * *

“I think,” Drifter says pointedly, taking a seat on his work table since there’s nowhere else, “they’re gonna be plenty scared of you without me plantin’ ideas in their heads.” 

Shin shakes his head. He’s leaning up against the wall of the tiny alleyway Drifter’s crammed himself into, face hidden by his helmet and arms folded over his chest. “The Man with the Golden Gun isn’t a present enough threat to startle any of your players into the straight and narrow road. Anybody willin’ to mess with your Taken’ll have more balls than that.” 

“You’re gonna scare off the majority of my player base and then this whole thing’ll be for nothing,” Drifter argues. “Nobody wants to tangle with a legend like you if they can help it.” 

The minute tilt of Shin’s head almost looks like a wince. “You think these new Guardians are so soft, but I’m tellin’ you, the folks who would turn from the Light won’t care about some story they’ve only heard in passing.” 

“Ain’t the point for ‘em to have to make their own choices?” Drifter says dryly. 

Shin’s shoulders slope as he lets out his breath. “I’m not trying to up the numbers of people I’ve gotta put down, Drifter.” 

“Right,” Drifter sneers. 

“I’m not. Flushin’ them out isn’t the same as encouraging a trip into the Dark.” 

Drifter huffs and rubs absently at his beard. “Let’s say you’re right,” he says, then drums his fingers restlessly on the table. “What do you suggest here?”

Shin’s quiet for a moment. Then, he nods at the plans Drifter’s got strewn over the table. “That gun you’re making,” he says. “Tell ‘em it’s for me.” 

Drifter snorts. “You? Mr. Beacon of all Light and good?” 

“Most of them aren’t gonna know anything about Weapons of Sorrow,” Shin points out. “The Vanguard keeps that info locked up tight, trust me. You tell ‘em it’s gonna eat up my Light, like Yor’s weapon, they’ll believe you.” 

Drifter shifts his weight, then slips a coin from his glove and runs it over his fingers. “You sound sure.” 

“I am sure,” Shin says. He pushes off the wall and steps closer, moving Drifter’s plans aside before he takes a seat next to him. The table creaks under their weight. “Listen, if a little fear’s all it takes to keep them from crossing a line, I’m willin’ to be that fear. Put that gun of yours in their hands, see if they’re satisfied with it, or if they’re too scared to want much else. They start prying for more after that, then I’ll have words with ‘em.”

Drifter glances at him. He rolls the coin over his fingers again, then flips it into the air and catches it in his palm.

Shin says quietly, “It’s gotta be the final piece in all this. Give them a chance to step into shadow, but err on the side of good.” 

Drifter tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling, then sighs and nods. “Fine,” he mutters. “Don’t come crying to me if you get a whole gang of Guardians set after you.”

Shin brushes his hand against Drifter’s thigh, feather light. 

Gambit’s first match takes place the following day. One of the invaders performs just a little better than the others. Drifter gets his first haul of motes. For now, nobody dies. 

* * *

_In The Present_

* * *

Drifter opens his eyes and finds Shin half dressed and standing at his table in front of the bank, fiddling with a braided red cord. 

“Hey, _hey!”_ Drifter barks, sitting up fast. “What’re you messin’ with?” 

Shin looks up fast, cheeks flushing like he’s...well. Like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Just lookin’,” he says. “What’s this ornament?” 

Drifter scowls and rubs the sleep out of his eyes, feeling some brand of embarrassment color his cheeks. “Got a deal going with that Eververse vendor,” he mutters. 

Shin nods. “Tess.” 

“Whatever her name is. Promised me a cut of glimmer if she could sell some exclusive ornaments for Malfeasance. I don’t need that thing in the hands of civvies, so I figured I’d design it myself.”

“Two?” Shin asks, eyes falling back to the gun. He runs his fingers over the barrel, curious, like he’s got questions he’s gotta distract himself from asking. 

“One’s already on the market.” Drifter rises out of bed and pulls his robes over his shoulders just so he’s not standing naked, heads over and floats over the railing to bat Shin’s hands away from it. “Mostly just shine and smoke. Waste of time, if you ask me.” 

Shin’s lips quirk at the corner. “They got names?” 

“Aim to Misbehave,” Drifter says, automatic, then stops and frowns, realizing he’s talked himself into a corner. He hadn’t meant to leave Malfeasance out in the first place, but as usual, Shin had shown up — without asking — to distract him, had wrestled him out of his clothes hardly two steps in the door.

Shin looks at him, waits. “And this one?” 

“I dunno,” Drifter snaps, summoning his Ghost in his free hand. The cannon disappears a moment later, sent off to his inventory with the ornament still only half complete. “The vendor —”

“Tess.”

 _“ —Whatever._ She named ‘em.” 

Shin pauses for a long time. “The cord’s pretty,” he says after a moment. 

“Yeah, well,” Drifter says, because he doesn’t care whether or not Shin Malphur of all people likes his guns, never has, never will. He doesn’t care if Shin likes his ornaments, either. “Gotta keep the vets interested.”

Shin’s not looking at him. Drifter’s brows knit. Shin seems to fidget for a minute before he says, “Reminds me of this old Golden Age fable I read one time.”

And Drifter turns as red as that cord, even though it shouldn’t matter if Shin knows about strings of fate and all that bullshit, because the ornament’s not for him. Drifter made it because he knows fate’s something Guardians like to test, and cause the masses are always a sucker for any sign of romance and chivalry and lifelong bonds, and that’s all. 

“Your players’ll like it,” Shin says, quiet. 

Drifter knows that.

* * *

_In The Past_

* * *

The stain Callum left isn’t ash so much as remains seared into stone. 

Drifter feels played. 

He’s not angry at the action so much as he is for being left in the dark about it. There were a lotta things he’d laid bare for Shin and he’s not sure he’s getting paid back in full. He knew Shin would go after Callum — hell, he’d been entertaining the idea that he’d planted that seed in Shin’s head — but he hadn’t thought Shin would find him so quick. Too quick, maybe. Shin’s always been a fast draw, but the Ascendant Realm’s big. Too big for one man to just up and find another without some insider info. 

It makes sense now, Drifter reckons. Shin’s sudden departure, his claim of having work to do, of getting back to the hunt elsewhere until he has a reason to come sniffing around Gambit again. Drifter thinks the Dredgen circles have probably gotten messy since Callum’s been splattered over rocks like a fried egg. 

He imagines Shin thinks he’s clever. _Keep my name off your lips,_ he’d written to Shaxx, when he’d still been masquerading to the rest of the world as the Renegade. He imagines Shin never figured Drifter would be willing to attempt at his own solo deal with the Crucible handler. 

Shame that Shaxx had only kept one name to himself, Drifter supposes. Shame he’d never known _Shin Malphur_ to be one to take up Crucible matches.

* * *

_In The Present_

* * *

“I’ll be gone a while,” Shin says, slinging a fresh cloak around his shoulder. The one he’d worn before crowding Drifter into his little crate of a room is still laying on the floor bloodsoaked, the red snake weaving over it gleaming underneath drying splatters.

Drifter rolls his shoulders, listens to his neck pop while he works out the stiffness. He’s already settled into the chair at his work table, set to work on his newest set of weapons for Guardians to earn in the Haul. He’s just got a scout left, needle sharp and quick firing, something he wishes he’d had on nights when not freezing to death was uncommon. Shin steps a little closer, bare hand settling on the back of Drifter’s neck and putting pressure there in little rolling motions. 

Drifter leans into it, the tense line of his shoulders sloping into something more relaxed. “Mm…” he says absently. “Where you off to?” 

“Teben says I ought to see the state of the Moon,” Shin answers, “Since Eris found that…ship.” 

Drifter stills. He hasn’t entertained thoughts of going to Luna at all, not once, not since Tirte had come back with dark lines under her eyes, exhausted and jumpy and desperate for a round of Gambit. That ship she’d seen, the same one Shin’s going to now, is the last thing Drifter wants to lay eyes or ears on. “You think that’s smart?” he asks, glancing up. 

Shin’s brows knit. He looks resigned. If there’s any fear or nerves in his eyes, he hides it well. “Can’t exactly be helped,” he says. “Best to put all I’ve learned to the test before it’s unavoidable. Besides, I hear Eris has got a hold of some Hive runes that let Guardians break a little further into the Dark.” 

Drifter supposes that’s true. Still, the thought of it sends a creeping shiver down his spine. His goal’s always been to get shelter from those damned Pyramids, not to run into them. He’s got enough voices in his head already, thanks. 

At his silence, Shin says, “I’ll make it out alright. Teben’s been already. It’s...not enjoyable, but I’ll be alright.” 

Drifter hums. “I ain’t stopping you,” he says. 

On his neck, Shin’s fingers still, then fall away. “I’ll come see you when I get back,” he says. 

Drifter huffs, drumming his fingers on the table. “You weren’t invited,” he reminds, just to be a little spiteful. 

Shin hums, lips ticked up at the corners as he leans over the chair. Drifter tilts his chin up to kiss him, easy and lingering, and then Shin steps away to the snowy floor outside the crate and transmats out. 

Drifter’s eyes settle on his footprints, the snow gleaming a little where it melted under Shin’s heat, before he turns back to his hand-drawn plans and picks up a pencil.


End file.
